We Have What You Need
by Vicki So
Summary: After a trip to the universe's largest marketplace, Amy Pond isn't quite herself. Rory and the Doctor try to cure her of her insatiable lust...but will they survive each other? WARNING: Erotica, Menage, M/M, minor BDSM.


"Just one more hour," Amy pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her. "Please, Rory. How often do you get to visit the universe's biggest marketplace?"

"Well, it's easy enough for you to swan around, buying every shiny object you come across. You're not the beast of burden." Rory shuffled the bags and packages his darling wife had foisted upon him.

"I bought _you_ things, didn't I?" She fluttered her lashes.

He smirked. She meant the living lingerie she'd picked up. "And we could be in the TARDIS right now enjoying it. The Doctor said he'd be busy for a few hours."

"All the more reason to take advantage of _quality_ time together." She tossed her dark-flame hair. Rory suppressed a frown, biting the inside of his cheek. He would've thought the privacy of their bedroom provided ample opportunity for quality time. Despite the TARDIS's spaciousness, Rory had never felt entirely comfortable making love to his newlywed wife as vigorously as he would've liked. He felt as if the Doctor could hear him anywhere in the spaceship.

Amy didn't hold back—not that he could detect, anyhow. She was as loud and riotous in bed as she'd always been when they were together. A little vixen, she was, and he thanked the gods and the aliens and Time Lords and everyone else for every inch of creamy skin and every ounce of wild abandon that was Amelia Pond.

"Ten minutes," he negotiated, tuning back into the present. "Ten minutes and then we go back to the TARDIS."

"Half an hour," she said definitively, then pointed. "I passed that shop there before we left the Doctor. I want to see what's in there. It looks exotic."

"We're on a whole other planet eighty-five thousand years in the future. _Everything's_ exotic."

"But not at half price!" She pointed at the sign above the door. Rory groaned, and several of the packages tumbled from his slackened grip. Amy laughed and tut-tutted. "My poor beast of burden. Look, there's a cafe. Why don't you sit and have a rest and I'll browse awhile."

"Ten minutes," Rory said in warning. "And don't go buying the whole place up. I don't think the Doctor would appreciate us running up his tab."

She rolled her eyes. "If he even has one."

The Doctor had simply waved his sonic screwdriver over the credit card he'd handed them, giving them nearly unlimited funds. The Time Lord didn't strike him as the kind to steal. Maybe he was somehow making up for it by dispensing lottery tickets, or nudging the stock prices so the banks didn't notice the strange infusion of cash. Regardless, he didn't like being beholden to the time traveler. He knew the Doctor meant well, that he was trying to keep things smooth between the newlyweds by giving them the honeymoon of a lifetime. Still, his beneficent generosity was a constant reminder of all the things Rory couldn't provide his beloved Amy.

He shouldn't be so envious. No one could compete with a Time Lord. And truthfully, the Doctor was an upstanding bloke, honest and loyal—the kind of man anyone would be honored to call a mate. Still, sometimes he thought he caught a look of longing in the Doctor's soft eyes, a slight flex in his pronounced jaw more subtle than any expression usually twitching across his animated features. And those looks were directed at his wife.

Rory sighed. There was no use in overthinking these things. He knew jealousy and paranoia would only tear them all apart. Amy was all that mattered. He would do anything to make her happy.

Even shopping.

* * *

At first, Amy thought she'd walked into a closed shop. The room was dark, barely lit, the shelves of deep, black wood empty. The smell wafting from the store was fetid at first, a cloying reek like rot and old blood. But then the smell changed. She inhaled deeply, and caught the scent of fresh line-dried laundry, primroses and lemons. Another whiff and it changed again: lavender, mint, fresh brewed coffee, roasting garlic...

"You must be hungry," a husky voice said behind her. Amy jumped and spun to face a purple-skinned... woman, Amy decided. Her velvet-textured face glittered with diamonds set into her pronounced cheekbones. She wore a slinky emerald-green bodysuit that draped to the floor and spread around her bare web-toed feet. For all the differences, Amy couldn't help but think she was beautiful.

The purple woman lifted her hands and held out a small tray upon which sat a small nut. "Please. Have a sample."

"What is it?"

"Bora nuts. A local delicacy."

"Is it safe?" The Doctor had told her and Rory both to be careful about what they ate, though she got the distinct impression he was warning them off unhygienic street food rather than snacks that might be potentially fatal.

"Of course. The door scanned you the moment you stepped in. It wouldn't be good for business if our customers kept dropping dead." She tittered, a light breezy sound. "I guarantee you, this is perfectly safe."

Amy took the small nut and popped it into her mouth. She chewed. "Tastes like a cashew."

"That's good, yes?" She smiled. "It should stave off your hunger for a while. It's not a good idea to go shopping while you're hungry, you know." She set the tray aside. "You might get impulsive and buy something you don't need."

Amy quirked her lips. "That's...rather honest of you. I mean, most places count on impulse buys...leaving candy and smokes and things by the counter."

"Oh, not here." The purple saleslady gave her a stern frown, looking almost offended. "We only specialize in what you absolutely need."

"Oh. I just came in for a browse."

The purple lady's smile broadened. "Strange thing to say. No one comes in here unless they're looking for something _very_ specific."

She'd heard stranger things on other planets in different times, but this struck her as singularly odd. People just looked, sometimes. Window shopped. It was human nature...but then, there were more than just humans out here. Amy glanced around at the empty shelves, nonplussed. "What do you sell here?"

The diamonds on the woman's cheekbones gleamed. "Your heart's desire."

A light glowed warmly in the center of the room then, illuminating a pedestal she must've walked right past. Amy didn't know what, exactly, she was looking at. She really didn't—it looked like an ashtray she'd made for her aunt when she was a child, but it twisted and folded in on itself, as if it might be alive. She blinked hard. No, maybe it really was an ashtray.

"Amelia Pond." The saleslady picked up the object smilingly. "You are such a special customer. Your needs are...fulfilled, it seemed. And yet..." She inspected the object. "Well, that makes sense, I suppose. And you aren't the first to want this."

"What is it?" She reached out and touched the object. It felt like a purring kitten, and the saleswoman let her cradle it in her hands. A feeling of utter contentment wended through her, and she closed her eyes, clasping it to her chest.

"How much?" It suddenly didn't matter what it was anymore. She _wanted_ it.

The saleswoman's eyes glittered as bright as her diamonds.

* * *

"Ah, thank God, I thought my shoes were going to be fused to my feet." Rory pulled his shoes off and dropped them on the floor, flexing his toes as he sat back on the lower bunk of their twin beds. Not ideal, certainly, but neither of them had been brave enough to broach the topic with the Doctor.

"Ugh, not in here. How many times do I have to tell you..." Amy kicked them out the door.

"A whole TARDIS and the Doctor couldn't figure out we could use more space." Rory took the bags off his bed. "My God, that's a lot more stuff than I remember you buying. I've no idea where you plan to keep it."

"Some of it's for Mum and Dad. And I thought I'd save a few things for Christmas."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Don't worry. I'll pay the Doctor back. I doubt he charges interest and anyhow..." She went on for some length, speculating about what Time Lords did to earn money, whether they had currency at all, how economies across the universe must work and whether any of them had had any crises like the ones they had on Earth. She was talking a lot faster than usual, and Rory watched as she zipped around, unpacking the bags and packages, laying out her purchases on the sofa. He couldn't help but smile.

"Had a fun day, then?" he finally managed to get in.

She nodded gleefully. "I had a lovely time. And I can heartily say I won't be doing another shopping trip like that for a long, long time." She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Thank you for carrying all my things, you big, strong man, you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "You know, there's a way you can thank me proper." He nudged her with his hips suggestively. "I wouldn't mind playing with my gift now."

Amy's eyes lit up and she smiled brilliantly. "Give me two minutes." She snatched up the bag holding the lingerie, giggling, and jumped into the bathroom.

Rory rubbed his hands together and started to make his bed. There wasn't a whole lot of room to maneuver down there, and Amy's top bunk was always far too noisy. The creaking distracted him far too much when they were up there, so down below it was. That meant every inch of space was needed.

He divested himself of his clothing, deciding last minute to leave his knickers on. Always important to leave something to the imagination.

He lay down on the bed, arranging himself in what he hoped was a seductive pose. He thought about turning off the lights so that the living lingerie, which glowed in the dark, could be appreciated to its fullest extent. He shook his head. No, Amy needed no adornment, no glowing, writhing lacy thing. She was perfect as she was.

He was just starting to get in the mood when the door burst open.

"You will not believe what I've just found!" The Doctor strode in, and Rory yelped, grabbing a pillow to hide his faltering arousal.

"Doctor!" Rory hissed. "Now's not the time—"

"I've spent half my life scouring the universe for an Alloran garblesnarker, and I've finally found it!" He clapped his hands and kicked up his heels. "It's insanely rare, you know. They only made two out of a lot of about—" he flickered his fingers, counting "—thirty billion."

Rory blinked hard. "Thirty bill— No, wait. Al-lor-an gable...?"

"Alloran garblesnarker!" The Time Lord grinned. "Two in the whole of space and time and I own one! You know I don't like to own things...I mean, aside from the TARDIS and my books and my suits and the occasional action figure. Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask...what?"

The Doctor's shoulders slackened. "Rory. _Come on._"

He knew he'd probably regret asking. "Okay, what's an Allor...Alloran..."

"...garblesnarker is just the most perfect, most beautiful—" he held out his hand with a flourish "—everything I've ever wanted. Isn't it the sexiest little thing you've ever seen?"

Rory stared. His eyes canted from the Doctor's palm to his glee-filled face. "That's a marble."

"Oh, you silly— No, it's not a marble. I mean, yes, it's a marble, if that helps you, but no. It's not that at all." He snatched it up between thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. "No, Rory, this is so, so much more." He said it reverently, gazing at it the way a man might eye a pastry. Rory cleared his throat, a little afraid the Time Lord's next step would be to swallow the thing.

"So...what does it do?"

He didn't have a chance to answer. The bathroom door burst open. "I hope you're ready for me, big boy because here I—" Amy took one step out and gave a shriek.

Rory had entirely forgotten about what he and his wife were about to get up to—the Doctor had distracted him with his shiny marbles. He opened his mouth to shoo the Time Lord out, but the look on his face stunned him.

The Doctor was staring at his half dressed wife with something a little more potent than mere longing. He was looking at her as if he were looking at that marble...only the Alloran garble-whatever now rolled loosely in his slack palm.

"Doctor." Amy ran her fingers through her hair with a smoldering look of her own. And then Rory realized she was wearing the lingerie. It was, indeed, alive. A lattice of phosphorescent blue-green vines studded with tiny flowers that blossomed when the wearer was aroused.

And Amy was in full bloom.

But she wasn't looking at her husband.

The Doctor tore his gaze away, focusing on Rory, his expression almost pained. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his eyes gradually slid to Amy once more. Rory could just make out the goose bumps skating across her bare shoulders. She leaned one hip fetchingly against the door frame, jutting her glowing breasts a little more prominently and inviting him to look his fill.

"You're wearing lingerie," the Doctor observed.

"That's right, Doctor." Amy's lips looked fuller beneath the eerie glow. The flowers shuddered as she tossed her red hair back over one shoulder. "Do you like it?"

The Doctor ripped his eyes away and look at Rory again, then took in his dishabille. "You're...not naked under that pillow, are you?"

"Just about nearly." Rory sighed.

The Doctor winced. "I'm...interrupting something, aren't I?"

"No! Not at all." Amy sauntered closer to them both, hips swaying. "Rory and I were just getting...comfortable for the evening. Won't you join us, Doctor?"

Rory sat up abruptly, sputtering. "Amy!"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no..." the Doctor backed away hastily. "I've...I've got...things to play— _do—_ out there. Far away. From here." He didn't seem to know where to look, though Rory couldn't help but notice that as deep set as those soft eyes were, they were bulging out, seeking his wife's smooth skin and sweet curves. All right, so what if he felt a little spurt of pride mix into the jealousy boiling up as Amy pursued the Time Lord across the room.

"Oh, but we were just about to have a little fun. You like fun—" she hooked a finger onto his bow tie "—don't you, Doctor?"

Rory clamped his jaw, possessive and hurt all at once. The Doctor looked to him helplessly, hastily disentangling himself even as Amy hooked another finger into his suspender and snapped it across his chest. The Time Lord scurried out the door. "I'll see you in the morning," he called over his shoulder.

"Oh, pooh." Amy leaned her back against the door, pouting. "Got away again."

"What was _that_ all about?" Rory stood, the pillow dropping from his lap. It was hard enough to have that infuriating man barge in on his privacy.

"It was just a bit of fun, hon." She tossed her hair again and drummed her fingers on her chin. "He could use a good shag, don't you think?"

"_Amy!"_

"It'd take the bug out of his jitter, I'm certain of that." She smiled dreamily. "Can you imagine him? All tousled and ragged and glowing. More than usual, I mean. Do you think Time Lords are capable of multiple orgasms?"

Rory's stomach knotted. He felt sick. "If you're trying to make me jealous, you've done a right proper job." He grabbed his pants.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll sleep in a guest room, if it's all the same to you. Seems you don't need me tonight." He left, feeling sore, though deep down he knew he shouldn't. That was Amy—beautiful, maddening, supple Amy Pond. She could have any man, and she'd chosen him. Why, he'd never understand.

Just because he wasn't worthy of her didn't mean he didn't have feelings. Of course he was going to be mad. What was he supposed to think when his wife was flinging herself at the one man he knew could really and truly steal her away?

He stalked out into the corridor, simultaneous thankful and sad that Amy didn't follow. Ever since they'd met her Raggedy Doctor, it'd felt as though he'd been clinging to his darling Amelia, counting down to the moment she would leave him for that wild, insane, brilliant man. Amy knew he had issues with her relationship with the Doctor. No one in his orbit could help but be drawn in. They were just moths drawn to the brilliant flame of his sunlike radiance. Only he was a collapsing star, ready to go supernova and become a voracious black hole.

Rory sighed, shoving his hands through his hair. There was a spare bedroom farther down the hall—the TARDIS kept it ready for the nights the Doctor brought a guest aboard. He found the door and the let himself in.

The Doctor was sitting on the bed, one ankle crossed over his knee. "Good old Rory," he said with a faltering grin. "I knew she'd kick you out."

"She didn't kick me out. I left." Rory stared, supposing he shouldn't be surprised to find the Doctor anywhere on his own ship. "What are you doing here?"

"You two didn't...uh..." He made some vague gestures with his hands and waited. When Rory didn't answer, he elaborated. "You know... Or maybe you're done already? Which, I suppose, isn't uncommon. I mean, one out of ten human men—"

"Bloody Christ, it's hardly your business! And I'll thank you not to be putting your nose in our bedroom affairs." His rising ire was shoved off kilter when the Doctor leapt up and grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Oh, Rory." His expression softened. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to stick a lot more than my nose in your bedroom affairs."

His hands were strangely warm on his skin. He hadn't put a shirt on when he'd left his and Amy's room, and he became ultra aware of it now. Rory felt himself falling into the Time Lord's eyes, wondering at their color, the irises almost iridescent with the gaseous colors of a faraway galaxy.

He pulled away hastily. "I'm not into that, mate."

"No, I don't suppose you are." The Doctor grimaced. "But you might have to be by the end of this."

"What are you going on about?"

The Doctor paced in a tight line, scratching his head. "What did you two buy today?" he asked. "Aside from that bit of...frivolity Amy was wearing."

Rory was used to the Doctor's jerky train of thought tugging him hither and tither, so he responded, "Some clothes. A few knickknacks. Christmas gifts—Amy could tell you."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure, but nothing dangerous? Nothing that jumped out at you and screamed, 'Hello, I might be a deadly artifact from a hot jungle planet, saaaaay...in the J'adoris system'?"

Rory's heart pattered hard. He didn't like the consternation on the Doctor's face. "You told us the TARDIS would screen for that kind of thing. That it wouldn't let us carry anything like that aboard."

His chin bobbed. "I did, and it does. Internal customs agent. Well, it's nothing like that, but if it helps you—"

"Doctor, what are you saying?"

The Doctor stopped and pivoted slowly, conflict and fear stark on his face. He pressed his lips tight. "What I'm about to tell you cannot leave this room. Amy absolutely _cannot_ know. If she knows, she'll die. Do you understand?"

Rory broke into a sweat. "No. I don't."

"Something...something is _wrong_ with Amy." He looked to one side, eyes flickering back and forth as though he were studying the problem hovering in thin air before him. "When she walked into the room, I could see something. I didn't see it before, but now...now I do."

"You saw quite a lot of my wife, and not by invitation, I might add."

"Don't be snappish with me. Now's not the time." He rubbed his jaw and face, still pacing a frantic, tight line. "What I saw was not your wife in a bit of living lace, but...something else. Something else is inside Amy. Something..." He flapped a hand. "Something old. Something hungry. It didn't know I could see it, but I could."

Rory paused, then gave a weak laugh. "You're just joshing me, right? Trying to cheer me up after our fight?"

The Doctor whipped around. "You had a fight?"

Rory's cheeks heated. He wasn't about to hash out the details of their ongoing marital problems with the subject of them pacing in front of him. "Just a little tiff. The usual...newlywed problems."

"And not of the little blue pill type? No, of course not." He glanced down briefly, and Rory's cheeks flamed. The Doctor tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, this is bad."

Rory shrugged. "Seems I'm the one sleeping on the couch tonight, so—"

"No." He grabbed his arms, those disturbingly long, strong fingers flexing over his biceps. "She needs you tonight, Rory. She needs you desperately. I don't care what you have to do to get back into Amy's bed, but you. Will. Do. It." He started pushing him out of the room and back up the corridor.

"What do you— Doctor, will you tell me what's going on?"

"The thing inside her—I don't know exactly what it is yet. Could be something. Probably is something. Definitely not nothing. As long as it thinks we're not aware of it, it'll stay in Amy and feed slowly."

"Feed?" Rory's stomach turned.

"The unquias, a psychic parasite from J'adoris Three that feeds on the desires of others. It latches on, magnifies those feelings, brings them to the fore so that the host acts on them. Earth has actually had a spate of infestations over the history of the planet. Your people called them succubi."

"Succubi? As in...succubus? Those vampire women?"

"No, no, no. Vampires are from a whole different planet. Have you even been paying attention. Succubi—unquias—attach themselves to you when you're vulnerable, say when you're relaxed or asleep, and open to suggestion. That's when they latch on, make you think and do things that—" His chin popped up, and he blinked rapidly. "Oh."

Rory hated it when the Doctor sounded surprised. "Oh?"

He gave him a bleary stare. "Nothing. With all luck, the parasite will feed, get its fill and leave Amy naturally." He slapped him on the back. "Do your duty for queen and country, Rory. Think of England...or whatever it is that gets you randy." He made a face that told him he didn't quite understand it himself, but was nonetheless intrigued. "But most important—and I cannot stress this enough—do not let her know that you know."

"That I know what? Doctor?" But he was already being left at the door to his and Amy's room while the Time Lord zoomed off, talking to himself. He hated it when he left him standing in confusion like that.

Then again, what was there to understand? A psychic parasite was eating away at Amy and the Doctor wanted him to have sex with his wife. That was simple enough. Right. Make up and then _make up. _

He inhaled deeply and let himself in.

* * *

Amy paced, itchy, restless, the space between her legs feeling...well, empty. Rory should've been there, the daft idiot. Hands, head, hips—she didn't care what. Actually she did. She wanted. More than she'd wanted in a long time. And ohh, was she ever going to let him have it when he came crawling back to apologize. Let him have it over and over...

She found herself massaging her breasts and stopped herself. What was wrong with her? Nothing, she decided. She was riled up was all. She'd been all ready for a night of fun and passion with her husband and then the Doctor had shown up...

The living lingerie palpitated across her skin, caressing her, sending tiny impulses along the glowing tendrils of vines encircling her bodice. The tiny flowers gave off a delicate, intoxicating scent, and she breathed deep. Thinking about the Doctor and his stupid hair and silly bow tie and those ridiculous suspenders... She closed her eyes, remembering how he'd tasted that one time she'd managed to kiss him. A thrill pulsed in her core. Her heart beat a little faster as she thought about how he'd looked standing in her bedroom...staring at her.

How could she have resisted posing a little for him? That Rory was there made it all the more delicious. Her husband, nearly naked, watching as she seduced another man...and the Doctor, no less.

Rory could be so jealous. He knew about what little history lay between her and Time Lord. He knew she was an independent woman with a healthy sexual appetite. So what if she was a little more open-minded about her preferences? She was certain the Doctor was equally so, if not more. She wondered at the time traveler's many conquests in his journeys across space and time.

The lingerie sent another pulse skittering across her skin, and it flowed down to her inner thighs. She lay on the bottom bunk, imagining what a man who never aged had experienced in his lifetime. How many positions? How many species? How many women? How many men?

And like that, he thoughts returned to the moment just minutes ago. The Doctor. Rory. Her boys. All in her bedroom. Together.

A hot, glowing pulse gathered low in her belly, and she clutched herself. It wasn't painful exactly, but it was deep and insistent, like a slow, inexorable pull of some torture device drawing her taut.

_Need. Now._

She sprawled back, hands gliding down until she found that spot. Right there. She closed her eyes and gave a groan. Damn Rory for leaving her in this state. Him and his petty little jealousies. Didn't he know by now how she felt? Hadn't she married _him? _Chosen _him?_

Even if they were spending the honeymoon with a man who, she imagined, would have been an amazing shag...

Her legs fell open as her thoughts turned back to the Doctor. It was wrong, she guessed, to be thinking about another man while she lay there, pleasuring herself on her husband's bed. If the Doctor had just thought to give them a room with a single large bed for the two of them to share...or the three of them...

Her breaths came harder as she pictured it, the ball of need tightening in her belly. A sweat broke on her brow as the living lingerie flexed across her skin. The flowers released a heady scent that made her dizzy—or maybe it was just the giddiness of thinking about her husband and the Doctor with her. Yes. That was what she wanted. The man she loved with the man she wanted...

"Doctor!" The word burst from her lips as she crested suddenly, enthusiastically, her orgasm crashing through her blood. She opened her eyes dazedly, skin soaked, the lingerie wriggling as it absorbed her sweat, loosening and soothing her with warm pulses.

That was when she turned her head to see Rory standing in the doorway.

She sat up. "How long have you been there?" It came out breathily. She brushed a tendril of hair off her sweat-slicked forehead, but it only took one glance at the tented front of his trousers to know it'd been long enough.

"Is..." Rory swallowed. "Is _he_ who you think about when we...?" He looked away, anger and grief crimping his features.

For a brief moment, she wanted to punish him for leaving her unfulfilled. Even now, her hunger was growing. She could please herself all she wanted, but it wasn't as good as the real thing. "Sometimes," she said.

Rory looked up in surprise. She hadn't meant to say that, and she covered her mouth, smelling herself on her fingers. A giggle bubbled up from deep down. What was wrong with her? She would never have admitted that to her husband, despite the evidence otherwise. To preserve Rory's feelings...

But she didn't care much for Rory's feelings, did she? And she wasn't sure Rory was aware of his own. What newly married couple hied away with a spaceman in a phone box across space and time? Sure, they'd agreed that one more big adventure before they settled down to a domestic, average life was what they both deserved. But it was more than that, wasn't it? That's all either of them wanted. More.

_More._

She rolled her neck, feeling a knot in her shoulders. Apparently, she hadn't rid herself of all that tension yet. Well, Rory was here now.

"Don't be angry with me, sweetie. I'm sorry." She reached out with both hands, pouting. The lingerie reacted to her renewed arousal, purring and climbing up her body. A few of the smaller vines around her thighs snaked upward, and she gave a little shudder as they tickled her slick entrance. The saleswoman had said the garment would grow with use, and would need pruning. Amy was tempted to rip the whole thing off, except that she really enjoyed how it felt.

Rory wiped a hand over his face, plucking at his roman nose nervously. She loved that beak of his. She imagined it prodding her red curls as he—

Her gut clenched again, tight and hot, and she gasped.

"Amy!" He went to her side. "Are you all right?" He cupped her cheek and looked into her eyes, his own wide with worry.

She licked her lips. "Hmm. I will be." She dragged him down for a kiss, fisting her hand in his spiky hair. She didn't kiss him so much as devour him—she was so...so _hungry._

It took her husband a moment to catch up to her, learn her new, ravenous pace. And God, did she feel _alive._ All transgressions forgiven—good old Rory, he was a soft heart and too good for her by half sometimes, she thought—he threw himself into it, hands curving around her breasts and playing with the nipples peaking between the vines of the living lingerie. He pressed her back into the bed, and Amy sighed.

"I want you, Rory." Amy was surprised by the growl rumbling through her. He fumbled with his fly, and she smacked his hands away, raking her fingernails down his buttocks as she pulled his pants down past his lean hips. He'd barely maneuvered his trousers past his knees when she clutched him between both knees and yanked him down, driving his rigid shaft into her the way one might a tent peg into the ground.

He bucked up with a grunt, shocked. Amy purred beneath him, squirming, clutching, eagerly taking him as deep as possible. She couldn't hear Rory's pants above her; she simply reveled in the fullness, the silky glide of his body against hers.

"More," she murmured. She closed her eyes, arching her body. "More."

Rory complied. He was not a bad lover by any means—fun, sensitive, generous, adventurous. And they'd been together a long time. Which, maybe, was what made her mind turn as she heard his urgent grunts, turn inward and outward, through the TARDIS's long corridors, seeking, searching, fingers of awareness delving to find—

"Doctor!" Amy's spine snapped straight as she came hard, and Rory gave a shout as he followed. The clutch in her belly eased, and she slackened, flopping on the mattress in a sweaty pile.

Exhaustion swept her up. She was so boneless she didn't even feel Rory slip out of her, then slip away.

* * *

"It's you she wants."

The Doctor looked up from the TARDIS console, expression unreadable. That he didn't do so in that jerking way of his, though, told Rory the Time Lord wasn't surprised.

He folded his hands behind her and stepped lightly before him. "You didn't tell her. About the...thing."

Rory shook his head. He wrapped his arms around himself, knowing he should be furious with the Time Lord. A real man would punch him in the face then keep hitting him till Amy was his again. But he knew that 1) it wouldn't work and B) the Doctor would stop him. Maybe not with fists, but with words and logic and pleas for humanity, which were the Doctor's stock-in-trade. Rory felt bruised and battered just thinking about it.

"There's still hope then." The Time Lord reached out and gripped his shoulders, squeezing, then moved his hands to cup his face. "Look at me, Rory. You heard me before. I told you. The unquias are just feeding. They're using Amy to get what they need."

He pushed out of his hold. "Well, it seems to me what she needs is you, Doctor." He couldn't keep the venom out of his voice.

The Doctor straightened, tugging at his collar, setting his bow tie askew. "That's not ideal."

"Gee, you think?" Rory gripped the railing around the TARDIS controls. "What will happen to her if...if the unquias doesn't feed?" He wasn't sure he could spend another night with his wife moaning another man's name. _This _man's name.

"It will stay attached, like a leech. It won't leave her until it's full."

"And how do we kill it?"

The Doctor's eyebrows knotted together. "You want to kill it for doing what it was born to do?"

"It's a parasite. You said so yourself. I can't let it keep eating away at Amy—"

"Keep—" he cut him off with a glare "—your voice down. I told you, she can't know. If she does, the unquias will go from benign to hostile. It will latch onto Amy and drain her of all her psychic energy. Any hint that it could be deprived of a peaceful meal and it will devour her soul."

Rory rubbed his chin. Stubble was growing in quickly. The Doctor squinted it, then caressed his palm across Rory's jaw, turning his head this way and that. "What is this?" He scrubbed his hand back and forth. "It's like a Brillo pad."

"Leave off." He jerked his chin away, skin tingling. "I'll shave."

"No. Keep it." He gave him a steady look. "You need all the appeal you can muster if you're going to help your wife." He went to the console and flipped several switches and levers. The TARDIS whined down, and a chime began. The lights dimmed.

"What're you doing?"

"It's a quarantine protocol. I've put the TARDIS in a remote pocket of space and time and sent up a warning beacon to keep all ships away."

Rory's stomach turned. "For one little soul-sucking tick?" His weak laugh dissolved. "That's dramatic, isn't it? I mean, Amy's going to be all right, isn't she? We're not infected...are we?"

The Doctor gave him another long, unfathomable look that had him itching all over. He felt as though he were being stripped of his clothing and examined. But the Time Lord didn't answer his question. Instead, he picked up a thermos and poured a measure of hot liquid into the cup. "Here. Drink this."

"Why? What is it?"

"A restorative. The unquias will want to feed again in an hour or so, and you're going to need all the energy you can muster. I suggest you get some rest." He clapped him on the back. "Be brave, Rory. This may take some time."

* * *

Amy awoke with a start. She was starving. As she pried herself up, the living lingerie slid from her body in a shower of crisp, dried twigs. She gasped as it crumbled off, the expired flowers fluttering to the floor, leaving her entirely naked.

"What a scam!" She huffed, brushing the last of the detritus off. "Last time I buy my lingerie from a half-tree person. Bet it was a relative of some kind I was wearing." She shuddered at the thought.

Her stomach growled. Boy, was she ever hungry. Rory had certainly given her what-for, but it hadn't been _that_ vigorous. She trailed a hand across her naked breasts, humming in appreciation at her reflection in the mirror. Not bad at all. She grabbed one of Rory's soft flannel shirts and slipped it on, but didn't bother with underwear. It was late, and no one was about. Maybe she'd come across Rory, wherever he'd gotten himself to.

Or the Doctor.

She headed for the mess. Or the kitchen. The Doctor seemed to call it both, though considering the size of the TARDIS, she wondered if maybe he had one of each.

The tile was cool beneath her feet, but she wasn't cold. Actually, she was quite warm. She rooted through the fridge, grazing on whatever caught her fancy—cold beef, a bit of ham, cheese and crackers, half a cucumber, three fish fingers dipped in custard, toast and Marmite, and for dessert, a package of uncooked hot dogs. It was only her limited stomach that kept her from opening every cupboard and glutting herself.

She gave a hearty burp, licking her fingers, feeling warm inside. Her gut gave a gurgle, and she stretched, languid as a cat. A bath, she thought, would be the thing to have right now. No, a midnight swim. She smiled as she headed for the pool. She wondered if the Doctor ever skinny dipped in there. A sexy laugh she barely recognized as her own rumbled through her as she pictured the Time Lord in various swimming outfits. The banana hammock would probably be best suited for his personality. He'd probably call it "cool."

When she'd first toured the Doctor's spaceship, she'd thought the library/swimming pool was one of the oddest rooms in the whole TARDIS, but now it was one of her favorites. Books lined the four walls, floor to ceiling, on two levels accessible by what she though of as art deco brass and wood gantries and rolling ladders. She'd assumed all the knowledge of time and the universe would be in a computer or in the Doctor's magnificent brain, but clearly he liked to collect books, too.

In the center of the enormous room was an Olympic-size swimming pool. Amy slipped Rory's shirt off and took a running leap into the deep end. The temperature fluxed around her as the sensors adjusted to her body heat, setting the water to just a couple of degrees lower than her core temperature. She hung below the water's surface, turning up to stare at the domed ceiling above which displayed the sky—or in this case, the universe, where they were currently parked. She surfaced and floated on her back. A nebula shimmered above her in shades of green and blue and indigo with bits of scarlet mixed in. Not in all her life could she have imagined she'd be here, in space, floating in a swimming pool in a library on a spaceship that could travel through time. The stars were winking diamonds scattered across the cosmos, and she could visit any of them—all of them—thanks to the Doctor.

A ball of heat gathered deep within her, and the water's temperature rose a few degrees in response—it was nearly as warm as a hot bath now. She dove under to soothe the ache and need. As much as she'd eaten, she was hungry again. But not for food...

She surfaced, and was startled by the figure who'd appeared at the pool's edge.

"Good evening, Amelia." The Doctor stood in his shirtsleeves, his professorial tweed jacket gone, hands in his pocket, watching her with those deep-set eyes, wearing the expression of a sphinx. "Rather late to be out for a swim," he said, his voice steady.

She rolled her shoulders, letting the tops of her float enticingly above the water line. "I'm restless." She bit her lip and glanced up at him through thick, wet lashes. "And what about you? Don't you ever sleep?"

He didn't reply, instead pacing along the circumference of the pool. She followed him with long, languid strokes, floating on her back to display all her assets. It was outrageously shameless, but the Doctor had barely acknowledged her state of undress, much less let his eyes linger anywhere except on her face. _Impossible man,_ she gritted to herself.

"I was going to get a book," he said as he went to a shelf and reached up for a dusty tome.

"Hmm. Books. Is that the only thing that interests you in here?" She folded her arms across the edge of the pool and rested her chin across them. "Why not join me for a midnight dip? The water's _wonderful._" She drew the word out.

The Doctor paused, hand shaking imperceptibly. She could almost smell his emotions—fear and want. Arousal. And beneath all that the taint of something she couldn't name. Sorrow?

He set the book down on a wing chair and slowly approached, kneeling by the pool's edge. She resisted the impulse to grab him by the collar and pull him into the water with her like a siren.

"You don't want me," he said softly, carefully, his tone laced with only the slightest hint of admonishment. "You're married to Rory. He's your husband."

She frowned. "You do not get to tell me what I do or do not want," she bit out. The pool rose another ten degrees. She slapped her palms across the water, splashing the Doctor. "Why does everyone assume I can't love more than one man?"

He stood abruptly, turning sharply away, jaw flexing.

She covered her mouth. Oh, bloody hell. Had she said that out loud? Well, it was true, wasn't it? She'd loved her Raggedy Doctor the moment he'd appeared, her guardian angel come to chase away the monsters and nightmares. Married or not, there was no denying that sense of unfinished business between them. She knew whom she wanted. She knew what she wanted.

She pushed herself out of the pool with a great splash, climbing out and straightening her spine, letting him take in her naked body. Steam rose off her—the pool must've been more like a hot tub by now.

"Yes, Doctor." She approached him. She'd expected him to back away, but he stayed rooted to the spot. "I love you. In a different way than I love Rory, but love all the same. I don't think there is a word for the way I feel about you."

"The Queen's English is rather limiting that way," he mused. "The In'stavians of Horix Two have 2,583 words for the word _sleep_—"

She reached out and put a finger to those sculpted lips. The contact sent a sharp, hot spear of desire through her. The Doctor held perfect still, his breath tickling the fine hairs along her hand. "You talk a lot when you're nervous."

"I talk a lot when I'm thinking."

"And what are you thinking about?" She slunk closer. "Why aren't you touching...tasting...feeling...?" She reached for his bow tie and drew him closer, eyes closing. Yesss...

"I was thinking—" he drew back "—that I would never want to hurt Rory."

She regarded him, her thoughts spinning. She grinned as realization struck her. "You fancy him, don't you?"

The Doctor laughed softly, running a hand through his hair, making the sweep of his forelocks bounce. Amy gasped. "Oh. You don't just fancy him, do you?"

"You're my mates. My...my family." A high blush had stained his cheeks. "I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?" She pressed forward. His shirt had already been wet when she'd splashed him, outlining his lean, fine chest. But when her nipples brushed the rough fabric of his shirt, the water from her body dripping and bleeding into it, she shivered. "Like making sure his wife is happy?"

"Like making sure that you, Amelia Pond, know what you really want." He lightly stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, alternately shocking her and driving her wild. His eyes were filled with pain. "You're so beautiful, Amy. So lovely and sweet. It would kill me to know I ever hurt you, took advantage of you, made you feel less than you are."

Something inside her stirred—not hard and hot, but sweet and deep. Her throat closed on the sudden emotion. "You don't do that. I know Rory has had cross words with you before...but he said them out of jealousy. You know he's..." _Possessive_ wasn't the word. Nor was he _insecure_—not exactly. It was hard not to be insecure around the Doctor. She released a sigh. "He worries for me."

His touches lingered, and he pressed his forehead against hers, eyes shut, drawing his fingertips across her skin. "He's right to worry. I'm not an easy man to love."

The hot ball of longing was expanding again, and her breath came fast and shallow. "Doctor—"

He dipped down and touched lips with hers. It was so soft, so gentle, nothing like the time she'd tried to drag him into her bed the night before her wedding.

She slid her palms up his chest, massaging his shoulders, wrapping her hands around his neck and delving her fingers through his hair. She opened her mouth for him, and he obliged her, tongue tentative, growing bolder and hungrier with each stroke.

_So. Hungry._

Amy needed more. She hooked a finger beneath his bow tie and loosened it.

"You have to be sure, Amy." The Doctor's voice was ragged. "You must be absolutely certain this is what you want. That _I'm_ who you want."

"More than anything." Except that was a lie. The one thing she really wanted... She didn't know how she could ask for it from the men in her life.

In defiance of that lingering doubt, she pulled the Doctor closer, kissing him deeply, showing him her need. He undid his tie with one swift yank, and then she dragged those silly red suspenders off his shoulders and tore his shirt open.

"Pond!" The buttons rolled across the tiled floor, and a few plopped into the pool. "I really liked that shirt."

"Shut up." She backed him onto a chaise longue, and he fell to a sitting position, eyes wide. She straddled him, feeling the long ridge of his arousal dig into her right where she needed him. She held him close, kissing, sipping, drinking in his weak moans, ignoring the awkward flailing of his arms as he tried to escape her boa constrictor grasp. _Oh, no. No getting away from me this time, Doctor._

She rocked back against him, causing him to gasp. His hands found her hips, and he automatically moved with her when she did it again, thrusting and grinding. Ah, so it was true what they said—it really was a rhythm as old as time.

"Now you've got the idea," she said when she came up for air. The Doctor gasped comically.

"Breathing, Pond. I may be a Time Lord, but I do still enjoy breathing—"

"Shut up." She kissed him again, and he eagerly followed her lead. She reached for his fly and loosened his pants, then pulled and yanked and tore until she'd gotten his trousers past his knees.

"No knickers?" She smirked. "Cheeky. Or is it Gallifreyan to go commando?" She slapped his bottom, and he flinched. A look of pure mischief entered his face.

"You are going to pay for that, Pond." With a speed and strength she hadn't anticipated, he lifted her up and turned her over on his knee.

"What are you doing?" Her inquiry was cut off sharply as he slapped her bottom hard, sending a stinging pain through her, and she yelped. "Really?!"

"Do you like it, Pond?" He arched an eyebrow. "You do strike me as a glutton for punishment. Most people I've been with are."

She struggled to sit up, but he smacked her again, and this time, she groaned. "Oh, yes." He murmured close to her ear. "I think you do like that."

"Let me up." But he didn't. Instead, she heard the unmistakable warble of his sonic screwdriver. "What are you doing?"

"I thought it would've been obvious by now. Wait. Wrong setting." He made an adjustment and then suddenly, a vibration erupted inside her, against her, violent and wonderful. She arched into the sensation, moaning.

"Sonic screw-drive-her," he said wickedly. "Oh, I've always wanted to say that."

The buzz was like a vibrator turned up to eleven. Her inner muscles clamped hard against emptiness, and she wriggled her hips. "Please, Doctor. Please." She lifted her hips in invitation.

"Quiet, you." He slapped her bottom again, the shock wave accentuating the pleasure gathering around her clit and tickling across her nether lips. She needed him inside her. Why was he doing this? Didn't he want her? Surely he did—she could feel his erection tapping against her stomach as she lay spread across his lap, ass pushed unashamedly into the air.

She couldn't help but think about how her awkward position perfectly encapsulated what it was like being the Doctor's companion—being laid open and exposed, a subject to his whims, wanting what he wanted, willing to follow him to the ends of the universe for a smile, a boon, a reward. She would gladly subject herself to whatever torture he devised if he would just favor her with a kind, sweet, passionate word while pressing his being into her. She wanted to become one with him...which was an overly romantic way of saying she wanted his cock buried deep in her pussy.

The heat flared to supernova inside her gut. She spasmed, her whole body jerking. "Doctor...Doctor please, now, now, _now!_"

He didn't make her wait. Deftly, he swept her up and settled her back against the chaise.

She didn't know what to expect from sex with a Time Lord. She and Rory had sometimes discussed it out of perverted curiosity, speculating he had two cocks and three balls. But he didn't—just the one endowment, and not unimpressive in length or girth. His parts were all human, nestled in a halo of curly dark hair, and they jutted forth proudly for Amy to see.

He knelt. And with a single thrust, he was inside her.

She thought he would stretch out the act somehow, ease her into it the way the TARDIS slipped into a new time period. Or maybe she expected something more bombastic, an earth-shattering pounding that crumbled her defenses. It was neither. All she knew at that moment was that the Doctor—_her_ Doctor—was poised over her, watching her with those keenly calculating eyes, his own feelings masked beneath layers and layers of wonder and awe and fear and self-possession. The slightest flex of her inner walls had him gasping.

"Amy." He gave an experimental thrust. "Oh, Gallifrey... You're..."

Amy dug her heels into his ass. "Shut up and fuck me, Doctor."

He proceeded to hammer into her, his focus as intense as the sun. She thought she might go up in a burst of fire, looking into his laserlike eyes. She kissed him again and again, letting his lips cover hers, feeling every inch of naked flesh sliding across hers, amazed at how very human he was and not. When he buried his face against her neck, breathing hard, she heard him whisper her name over and over...not as a benediction, but more like a mantra...as though he were trying to engrave her name in his memory.

She was slick with sweat when, after a time, he pulled her up, turned her over onto her hands and knees, then slid into her once more. The words _thick_ and _hot_ and _tight _and_ wet _ran through her thoughts. And then, for some reason, she could've sworn she smelled the sea and the sweet perfume of roses. The climax that claimed her was tainted with the bitter taste of tears in the back of her throat and the wordless cry wrenched from the Doctor's lips.

They sprawled onto the chaise as he withdrew, breathing hard, and the strange mix of sensations faded. "What...what was that?"

"Sorry. Psychic afterimages. Random sensations. The brain fires off all kinds of...leftover bits of brain things." He spooned against her, gathering her close, lips nuzzling behind her ear. She couldn't see his face, but sensed deep down the Time Lord was lying.

He didn't let her linger on it, though, as he prodded her gently between her legs. Maybe he did have two cocks after all—how else could he be ready again so soon?

"Come along, Pond," he said, sliding into her once more, eliciting a surprised intake of breath. "We have all night, and I intend to make sure you sleep soundly tonight."

* * *

Rory opened his eyes groggily, head throbbing, legs rubbery. What had happened? He pushed himself up, not recognizing his surroundings. He tried to recall what had happened last night; he'd been with Amy. They'd made love, and she'd...

She'd called the Doctor's name, and he'd left in a huff. He'd talked to the Doctor...and then...

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pounding in his temples. It felt as though he had the worst hangover possible. He dragged himself to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over. The moment he tried to stand, however, he stumbled to his knees.

"Bloody fuck," he muttered, pushing himself up. His hips barely worked. What was wrong with him?

The door slid open. He caught the flutter of Amy's night robe in the corner of his eye. "Thank God, sweetie. Listen, I'm sorry about last night, but I think you'd better call the Doctor. Something's wrong with my legs."

"Is it now?"

Rory froze and twisted about. "Doctor!" He was naked except for Amy's silky green night robe, and he leaned heavily against the door frame. "What the hell— Why are you wearing my wife's clothes?"

He shrugged. "Because they're comfortable. And I couldn't find mine."

"You couldn't— Okay, never mind about that. Something is wrong with my legs."

"Yes. It's the unquias's psychic venom."

"Venom?" Rory exclaimed.

"Oh, don't worry, it's not fatal. They just use it to...subdue their victims to prevent them from getting too far." He sniffed. Rory couldn't help but notice his hair was a lot more tousled than usual. "It'll wear off once the unquias leaves."

"And it won't do that until it... Until _Amy_ is satisfied?"

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Mmm-hmm."

Rory narrowed his eyes, noticing the blush rising in the Time Lord's high cheeks. "_Is_ she satisfied?"

The Doctor sucked a breath between his teeth and stretched his lips grimly. "Nnnnnoooo."

Rory's thoughts ran through his head like cold molasses uphill. "And you'd know that...how?"

"Funny story, Rory." He took another step into the room and promptly sprawled to the floor in a pile of pale, angular limbs scantily clad in green silk and lace.

Rory's stomach heaved. "No. No, you didn't."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I thought we had an understanding!" He clutched his chest, searching for the knife embedded in his heart.

"We did." The Doctor flipped over and pushed himself up on his elbows, craning his neck around to look Rory in the eye. "I told you to get some rest. I made sure of it, in fact. I gave you a little night-night cap in that restorative. Or perhaps I should call it a sedative."

"_You drugged me?"_ He flipped onto this stomach and started crawling toward the Doctor, dragging half-dead legs. "You drugged me so you could _fuck my wife?_"

"Now, now, Rory...Rory? _Rory!_" He shielded himself from the weak blows of Rory's fists.

"You wanker! You selfish, egotistical—" He couldn't do more than slap the man ineffectually. He didn't have room to throw a good punch, and frankly, he was hurting so much inside he wasn't sure he had the strength. Despair clutched him, clawing at his faith in his wife. He felt like an utter failure. He'd tried to cure her of the parasite, giving her what she needed, but it wasn't enough. _He_ wasn't enough. And she'd turned to another man to satisfy her.

The tears started and he covered his face, ashamed. He curled up into a ball on the floor.

"Oh, Rory." The Doctor's low voice came closer, and he smoothed a hand over Rory's hair.

"Don't touch me." But the Doctor grabbed him and turned him onto his back.

"Listen to me. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary for Amy's well-being."

"How can this be any good for her well-being?" Rory yelled. "We're feeding a parasite that's sucking her soul!"

"What's that now?" Amy asked, walking into the room. She was wearing the bed sheet from his bunk, wrapped around her like a toga. She glowed, her red hair tumbling around her face. There were scrape and bite marks on her neck and shoulders. Ones Rory hadn't put there. "Parasites? You didn't get lice again, did you, Rory?"

Rory and the Doctor looked at each other, then at Amy. _Shit._ "No. It's nothing. No one. We weren't talking about you."

"Really?" She smiled, biting her lower lip. "I was hoping you would be, especially after last night."

Rory's chest caved. Cruel. That was what his wife was. Cruel, or just uniquely blind to his feelings, which was nothing new, considering how long she'd thought he was gay.

She rolled her shoulders. "I'm going to take a shower. Will one of you make me breakfast? I'm starving."

"Sure thing, honey," the Doctor called back wryly as she exited. His jaw clenched. "Your wife is hot."

"Oh, shut up." Rory hunched.

"I mean, she's _literally_ hot. Burning about twenty degrees hotter than average. I noticed it last night, too. It's not a symptom typical of the unquias parasite. Nor is her hunger." He flopped back, then pulled out the sonic screwdriver from the robe's pocket, switching it on. "Not only that, but the unquias didn't clamp down on her and suck her life energy dry just now. Even the slightest hint that she might be denied would've triggered it, and there was no doubt that she heard you." He gave him an admonishing look.

"I'm sorry. I was angry. I would never do anything to risk Amy."

But the Doctor was engrossed in his thoughts. "This is something else. Something..." He steepled his fingers. "I need to know about everything you two did yesterday. Everything you saw, ate, touched at the market."

Rory told him. He couldn't think of anything specific that he and Amy hadn't done apart. "Except there was one shop she went into without me. It was the big building where we first came in."

"Did she buy anything?"

He vaguely remembered the wrapped packaged she'd come out with. "Yes. But I didn't see what. It was about the size of a large apple. Like a fist." He clasped his hands together to demonstrate. "It was wrapped in a box."

"Good man." The Doctor switched his sonic screwdriver on and waved it over Rory's legs. Slowly, some feeling returned, though when he managed to stand, his hips still ached and barely supported him. "Right. I need you to distract your wife while I investigate. Whatever's wrong with her, it's got to be linked to whatever she brought home."

Rory set his teeth. "Maybe...maybe you ought to be the one to..._distract_ her."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Rory, now's not the time to play pouty, petulant child. You're a swell bloke, but you can be so daft sometimes." He patted his cheek and looked into his eyes. "I didn't think so when we first met, but you are a handsome, thoughtful, charming, bad ass _any_ woman would be lucky to have, and you're lucky enough to have Amelia Pond. You're the bleeding Last Centurion, for God's sake! You spent over two thousand years waiting for the woman you love. You know who else can make that claim? No one, including me. No one has a claim to Amy's heart the way you do, even if she isn't as exclusive in her affections. Some hearts just have a greater capacity for love."

He gave a small, bashful shrug. "Yeah. I guess."

The Doctor sighed. "Ah, Rory." He craned forward and gave him a peck on the forehead. It was so sweet, so earnest, Rory could do nothing more than blush and rub the back of his neck. "I know it's hard to process, but believe me. You're loveable. Trust me." He started to push up.

"Doctor. About Amy... How am I supposed to...?" He wanted to say "top you" but that wasn't what he meant.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Really, do I need to explain the birds and the bees to you? Follow your instincts."

Rory hesitated. Could he touch Amy again after...after him?

"There's only one thing you need to think about." He leaned forward. "Do it for Amy."

He swallowed and nodded.

"Good lad. Keep her occupied for as long as you can. We can't take a chance that this is just a particularly dense unquias who hasn't figured out we know it's latched on to Amy." He pushed himself up awkwardly and stumbled out.

Rory took a deep breath. The things he did for love.

* * *

Amy stood under the rain shower head, basking in the flow of cool water over her skin, her muscles aching in the best way possible. Last night with Rory and then the Doctor had been lovely, but she was already randy again, seeing her boys rolling around on the floor half-naked. She should've joined them—but there was still something holding her back, for all her talk. It just seemed too decadent, somehow, to want both men at the same time.

Her gut wrenched, and she doubled over, winded. The feeling passed quickly. Maybe it was just an internal Charlie horse. Or her hunger.

"Pizza," she said out loud, though why she would have such a craving seemed odd when she'd never really been into pizza. "And steak. Lamb chops. Chips! Oh, I could do with some chips and vinegar. And fat, pork sausage."

"Did someone call for me?" Rory stepped into the shower stall, and Amy squeaked in surprise. "Right. Sorry. That sounded stupid. I mean, porno-cliché bad." He made a face. "I'll go now."

She laughed. "No, silly. You startled me is all." That he was coming to her after it was clear she and the Doctor had had a tryst was a good sign, or so she told herself. "Come here, love."

He reached out a hand tentatively, and she drew him closer, sliding her arms up his chest, the water running in rivulets down his face, soaking him through. She craned up to kiss him softly, melting in his arms as he pressed into her, his erection jutting against her hip.

Rory loved sex in the shower. She knew he felt embarrassed at times about his bodily essences, even though he was a nurse and dealt with them every day. Sweat, spit and semen made him feel dirty, and he hated messing her up. She'd never had any problem with him or his body. It was just nature. But beneath the hot spray—it was hot to Rory, at least, because he quietly asked if she could turn the temperature down—he felt free to let loose.

She dragged the tip of her tongue across one nipple, against the ridges of his barely there abs, and lower. Amy loved pleasuring her husband with her mouth, and she knew Rory enjoyed it, even though he sometimes felt uncomfortably selfish not giving back somehow. She felt his muscles strain as he prepared to tell her she didn't need to do that.

"Let me," she said preemptively. She massaged his thickening cock with both hands, cupping his balls and gently stroking as she placed swollen lips against the head and sucked him into her mouth. He let go of a breath, bracing one hand against the wall. She worked shaft while laving him, growing wetter herself as he gently thrust his hips. She opened her throat and took him all the way to the hilt, then stayed there a moment, relishing in the sensation, feeling vulnerable and wicked all at once.

The Doctor hadn't let her go down on him like this last night. He'd been quite focused on her, which seemed so typically him, taking care of her, not letting her make the decisions when it came to giving back. Not that she'd let him have his way in all things.

Mmm, if only he were there now. She wouldn't mind a hot cock in each hand, or being sandwiched between her boys while they soaped up her body, sliding cool fingers through her—

She gave a soft gasp and reached between her legs to stroke her clit. She needed more. Her mouth worked hard over Rory, and he was breathing hard.

"Amy...Amy..." He pulled away abruptly and pulled her to her feet, bending her over and pushing into her.

"Ah, fuck!" She clawed at the wall until she found a towel bar to grab on to. Rory pounded wetly into her, and she gasped with every thrust, moaning as her inner muscles tightened.

"Was he as big as me?" she heard him ask with a low, almost threatening growl. Her skin prickled. "Did he fuck you as hard as I do?"

She smiled to herself. She wasn't usually cruel, but there was something to her husband's tone that was more curiosity than jealousy. "Wouldn't you like to know?" _In fact, please tell me you would. I'm sure we can arrange something._

Her tease only made him slam harder into her. He pressed her front against the cold tile, spreading her legs wider, one hand on the small of her back and the other on the back of her neck. "Did the Doctor do this?" The tip of his finger played around her anus. She stilled, a little apprehensive. The one time she'd done this with Rory, he'd almost fainted. He'd thought he'd killed her the way she'd screamed.

But right now, she didn't care so much if her screaming brought the TARDIS down around their heads. She pumped her hips up, inviting him, daring him. "The Doctor did a lot of things."

"I can do them better." With that, he pushed, very gently, and Amy closed her eyes, breathing deep as one, two knuckles slid into her. She shuddered as he carefully massaged her, getting her used to the stretch and flex of those forbidden muscles.

Forbidden. So much of their sex life seemed to have centered around what she could or couldn't ask for; what she thought Rory wouldn't be comfortable doing. And she wouldn't ask for certain things for herself because...well...because...

Rory gently pressed his cock back into pussy, then reached around and cupped her mons, fingers delving for her clit.

"I want this for you, Amy," he said, rocking gently, stimulating every point he touched her. His hot breath poured across her neck, and she bowed into him. Her climax built readily, and her entire being swathed in ecstasy as he thrust harder.

Her body clamped down as her orgasm ripped through her. As it did, though, a flash of an impish smile and a twinkling eye peeking from beneath a flop of brown hair crossed her thoughts, reminding her what she was still missing out on.

It was so unfair. To Rory. To her. To the Doctor.

* * *

Rory's legs nearly gave as he left the shower. He should've had a cuppa, at least, before pursuing his wife.

He had to give himself at least a small pat on the back for making Amy scream _his_ name this time, though he couldn't be certain her mind hadn't been elsewhere. He was sensitive to her needs, knew she was distracted despite her passionate cries for him to go harder, faster, deeper.

He flopped onto his bunk, trying to catch his breath. It took him a long moment before he realized the Doctor was standing in the room, studying an object in his hands, and he startled. "We need to put a bell around your neck." He drew the sheet over his nakedness, but the Doctor wasn't looking at him.

"This is a bulquit nut." He held out the writhing object, which looked more like a ball of snakes to Rory than any kind of nut. "The unquias have been known to lay their eggs in all kinds of fruit. The larva make their way to the seed and stay dormant until they're ingested by a compatible host." He sniffed it, then gave it a tentative lick.

"I really wish you wouldn't do that." Rory turned away from the sight of that pink tongue, knowing where it'd been.

The Doctor used the sonic screwdriver on it. "Strange. No trace of unquias in this. It had to have come from somewhere..." He glanced around.

"Is that the Doctor?" Amy's voice came from the bathroom. The two men looked at each other in alarm.

"She can't know I'm here!" He scrambled for a hiding place, couldn't make it across the room in time to exit. Instead, he dove for the bed Rory lay in, burrowing under the comforter behind Rory, who made a squeak of protest as he snuggled up close in the twin bunk.

He just managed to shove the Doctor's head beneath the blanket when Amy came out. "Uh...no, no, just...talking to myself." He was keenly aware of the Doctor's face between his shoulder blades, his hair tickling his skin. "He's making breakfast, remember?"

"If he didn't get distracted and wander off."

Rory chuckled, then swallowed down a yelp when the Doctor pinched his naked bottom.

Amy looked him over. "Are you all right?"

"Hiccups." He kicked a heel backward, connecting with the Time Lord's shin. The Doctor retaliated with a nip to the flesh of his hip, and it was a good thing Amy was turned around, head in the closet, when Rory reached under the blanket and shoved him deeper down. Turned out that was mistake because now the Time Lord's face was pressed against the small of his back.

Amy pulled a day dress over her head, not bothering with a bra. Rory's breath caught, seeing her nipples jutting beneath the fabric. God, his wife was so sexy, he wasn't sure he could even feel all that bad anymore about what the Doctor had done.

His cock swelled, and he tried to stifle it, but it was no use. The Doctor had noticed. He knew because his open mouth was on his skin, either in laughter or...something else. Blunt fingertips traced up the backs of his thighs. Rory ground his teeth, squelching the need to cry out as those probing fingers traced the slit of his buttocks.

"Are you going to lie there all day?" Amy asked, bemused.

"Just...just want to catch my breath."

She smiled at him, eyes shining. "Well, lazy bum, don't expect me to bring you breakfast. I'm starving. I'll go first and keep a cuppa hot for you."

"Thank you," he called in what he hoped was not too strangled a note as the Doctor's reach found his erection and he tugged experimentally. The glide of his palm against his shaft, softer than he could've imagined, had Rory closing his eyes. Amy had left by that point, though, and as soon as the door closed behind her, Rory threw the blankets off. "What the hell, mate?"

The Doctor tossed his hair, gasping. "When was the last time you washed those sheets? It smells like an Ortanian goat under there!"

Rory tugged on his knickers hurriedly. "I don't know where you get off, but my bits are off-limits, do you hear me?"

The Doctor's infuriating smile was like a sunbeam on Rory's ire, warming him through. His emotions were still raw, though—he couldn't decide if it was because he objected to the Doctor treating him like plaything, or because he hadn't finished the job. The man was incorrigible. "Just wanted to check if you were all in working order. I've no doubt you did what you could for Amy, but it's clear whatever's in her system is still there." He took out the sonic screwdriver and waved it around the room, then at the alien nut he'd stuffed into his pocket. His face tightened in thought. "It's not the nut...so what is it?" He put the nut down and tapped the screwdriver against his palm.

Rory reached for his pants. "Not so fast, Rory." He scanned him, and his brow furrowed. "Hmm."

"What does 'hmm' mean?"

He looked into his face. "I wonder." He cupped his jaw and placed his lips on his.

Rory's heart leapt. He tried to pull away, but the Doctor kept a firm hold on his head, deepening the kiss and wrapping an arm around his waist to keep him from struggling. Rory found himself awkwardly pressed against the Time Lord, his shirt chafing his nipples. Heat suffused him head to toe as his erection sprang full and hard against his cotton boxer briefs.

_This is what you want,_ a tiny voice inside him coaxed. Rory fought the impulse to grab the Doctor, but his body betrayed him when his tongue swept into his mouth and he moaned.

The Doctor broke away and leaned his forehead against his. "Interesting." He said it in a low, amused purr. Rory's breath came fast and hot, and though a part of him struggled to lash out, he couldn't do anything more than stare through the fog of his brain. "I want you to hang on to this moment, Rory. For your sake and for Amy's." He turned to go, and Rory shook his head.

"What...what is happening?"

"Come to breakfast," he said in nonanswer. "I've got something I need to try."

With that, he left Rory standing in the room, erect, aching, and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

_The answer to that is simple,_ the voice in his mind said in an all too familiar lilt. _Come to breakfast._

That actually sounded like a great idea. He was starving.

* * *

Amy rooted through the fridge much the way she had last night, making her way through a jar of gherkins and silently cursing the Doctor for not making good on his promise of breakfast. Well, she couldn't expect more from him. He was just too scatterbrain, too easily distracted, to commit to such a banal exercise in domesticity. Given the choice between traveling anywhere in space and time for takeout or cooking, she'd probably choose an intergalactic curry takeaway, too.

"There you are, Pond. What's for brekky? Ah, gherkins. Love 'em." He grabbed the jaw and scooped one out with his bare fingers.

"I was hoping for a nice pile of scrambled eggs and fried kidneys with tomatoes, but beggars can't be choosers."

"You know, Pond, we are in a TARDIS. Anything you want is within reach." He drew closer, eyes fixed on hers, voice lowered. "All you have to do is ask."

She felt a little prick of guilt as her first thought was to slam the Doctor against the counter and have her way with him in the hopes that Rory would find them and...watch. Maybe more. But she clamped her lips tight and simply smiled. "I want breakfast."

"That's all?" He pulled another gherkin out of the jar, fingers dripping juice, and traced the tip of the tiny pickle across her lips. "No appetite for something more...exotic?"

Still holding his gaze, the tip of her tongue traced the path he'd made, then she snatched the gherkin from his fingers with a snap of her teeth, crunching down. "We have everything we need here, don't you think, Doctor?"

She enjoyed flustering the Doctor, especially knowing he was unflappable in the face of monstrous aliens, mortal danger and apocalyptic events. But he didn't shout for Rory or shy away from her like a frightened, overcaffeinated pony. Instead, he stood coolly smiling down at her, watching her the way a hungry predator might. Goose bumps erupted all over body.

"Hungry?" he asked softly, one eyebrow lifting.

"Starving," she breathed.

"How about you, Rory?" She thought he'd misspoken, but then she turned her head slightly. Rory stood in the doorway, eyes full of heat and want.

Her chest rose and fell as her heart hammered harder. She didn't feel guilty—not in the least. That Rory hadn't stalked out the moment he'd spotted her flirting with the Doctor told her something had changed. What had happened in the time she'd left those two alone to tousle in her husband's bunk? She wasn't daft, after all. She'd recognize the Doctor's lumpy form anywhere, even under a blanket. And Rory didn't exactly have a poker face.

Her thoughts ran amok as she pictured what might have happened between them. Judging by their smoldering looks, however, she wasn't sure her imagination was up to the challenge.

She grew wet just standing there, trapped between her two lovers' intense scrutiny. But something still held her back. She wanted to call for Rory to come into the kitchen and join them for more than just a cup of tea and a piece of toast. But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

"You know what would be good? Bacon. Do you have that on board?" Amy hurriedly went to the fridge and rooted around. "Seems like you have just about everything else. When do you ever find time to shop, anyhow? And how is it I never see you eat except when you're putting God knows what in your mouth? Ah, here's bacon. A whole rasher. Reckon that'll be enough for three." She wasn't ready to pull out of the fridge, though. Standing there with the cool air on her feverish skin felt good and safe. She wasn't sure she could look into the Doctor's or her husband's eyes again without doing something utterly foolish that could hurt all of them. "How about some eggs? Eggs and bacon and toast, of course. There's got to be marmalade in here. I'm sure I saw some the other day. Maybe beans. Oi, I'm so hungry, I could just step into the fridge and close the door behind me for the rest of the day..."

"Amy." The Doctor's single, uttered word was an inexorable command. _Look at me. I am talking and nothing else is more important._

She took a deep breath and ducked out again. "No beans?"

Rory and the Doctor were watching her unblinking with twin looks of concern and desire. "We just want to help you," the Doctor said calmly. "We love you and we can see there's something wrong."

Her mouth was dry. She laughed nervously. "What are you talking about? Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just—" Her gut tightened and she doubled over. Her boys were immediately at her side.

"You said not to let on that we knew!" Rory exclaimed. "What the hell was that?"

"I had to be sure. There's something not quite right about all this."

Amy tried to ask what they were talking about, but the pressure inside her built, and her core clutched emptily, wetly, pulsing with need while her belly felt as though it were on fire.

"Rory, bring Amy. We need to lay her down."

"I'll take her back to our room." Rory stooped and picked her up, carrying her through the kitchen in long strides.

"No." The Doctor grabbed him by the shoulder. "We'll take her to my bedroom."

* * *

Amy had the vaguest sense of being flown through the TARDIS halls, taking more twists and turns than she remembered existed. She wasn't in pain, exactly, but she knew by the weakness in her limbs that she wouldn't be able to stand on her own if Rory put her down.

Her skin burned so hot that Rory felt ice-cold in comparison. His chest was a solid mass and she pressed her nose against it, breathing deep. "Just like our honeymoon," she murmured, remembering how he'd insisted on carrying her across the threshold.

The Doctor ran ahead of them, and she watched his shapely behind wiggle. She'd never thought of herself as a bum person, but she liked the Time Lord's trim physique. He was different from Rory—more compact, with a nice flat belly and a slightly broader chest. Her husband was lean and lanky, and not quite as fit, but she loved him nonetheless.

"Love," she murmured sleepily, not sure whether she was addressing one of her boys, or whether her brain was simply misfiring. Everything felt soft and fuzzy in her mind, as if the air itself were made of silk and velvet. She drank it in, purring as sensation enveloped her skin.

* * *

"Doctor!" Rory nearly dropped Amy as she grew unbearably hot to the touch. Not only was she steaming, her clothes were smoking.

The Doctor grabbed something off the wall, still in motion, turned and pulled a trigger, releasing a fluffy white foam that covered Amy head to toe. The smoke and steam stopped. "Flame retardant. Keep moving, Rory."

"What's going on? Is she dying?"

"She will if we don't help her. God, I'm so stupid. This isn't an unquias at all."

"Then what is it?"

He didn't reply as they went through a door. Rory stopped in his tracks as his feet met a soft, cushiony surface. He stared around, amazed.

The entire room, floors, walls and ceilings, was padded and dressed in colorful bed linens, with various shapes like chairs and sofas rising from the floor, as if they were part of it. Pillows in all shapes and sizes littered the place along with blankets and comforters and duvets, and a great assortment of stuffed animals. Rory's eye was instantly drawn toward the teddy bear wearing the bow tie and fez.

"Lie her down and strip off her clothes," the Doctor instructed. "Then get naked yourself." He started to undress, and Rory struggled to tear his eyes away and do as he was told. Wiping the foam retardant away, he got Amy's clothes off, then reached to remove his top. He was stopped when Amy put a warm hand on his wrist.

"Hello, lover," she said with clear, smiling eyes. "What're you doing?" Her palm wasn't lava-hot the way she'd felt only moments ago. In fact, she seemed almost normal.

"Amy. I'm...I'm just..."

"About to give you an early birthday present." The Doctor had stripped off his shirt, and the top snap of his trousers was undone. He fixed an eye on Rory, and the wonderful, awful, desperate, look there said it all. _Follow my lead. Do it for Amy._

He loved his wife too much to question himself or the Doctor. He knew the Time Lord loved her. And he trusted the Doctor. Loved him.

Rory swallowed. He loved the Doctor. Of course he did. He'd thought it was hate he felt toward him, but love and hate were like two sides of a coin, so close and unable to exist without the other. Living and traveling with him, and now sharing his beloved with him, had shown him his feelings were much more complex. Much deeper. As deep as the desires he would never admit to. Except now.

He trembled as he grew hard.

"Rory, lie down beside your wife." the Doctor commanded.

His knees gave as he obeyed, focusing on Amy, stroking that gorgeous red hair that had been the flag of her passion since she was a child. She looked between him and the Doctor, her cheeks glowing and her eyes wide and wild. But she didn't protest, didn't stiffen, didn't do anything as the Doctor reclined on the opposite side, propped up on one elbow and gently gliding one hand down her arm.

"Amelia, we want to do this for you. But you have to tell us this is what you want," the Doctor said soothingly. "We need to hear you say it." His eyes canted to Rory's, and an unspoken understanding was forged between them.

Rory kissed her briefly on the mouth, then moved down her collarbone. The Doctor followed suit, feathering her neck with his lips. Amy gasped, panting and squirming between them. Rory gripped her hips to still her and dragged his mouth down to her nipples.

"Say it, Amy," the Doctor said huskily. "Tell us you want us both in your bed together. Say our names and tell us you want us both inside you at the same time."

Her body jerked and her skin flamed hot. Startled, Rory almost pulled away, but the Doctor stayed him with one strong hand and a firm look. _Don't scare her away now. Let her know you love her and need her and want only to give her everything she's always wanted. She needs us now more than ever._

"But...we can't..._I_ can't..." Tears burned bright in her eyes and she closed them, mortified.

"Yes, you can. Whatever you've heard from other people, whatever judgments they've placed on the bedroom lives of other people, they don't matter. They are out there, far away, and nothing they say or do can ever break the bonds between us. Friends, family, lovers...I've never known the likes of you and Rory, Amelia Pond. Not in all my 900 years..." He trailed off.

"Amy. I love you." Rory looked up at the Doctor. "_We_ love you. Let us do this...for you."

He reached across Amy's prone body and kissed the Doctor deeply, tasting him, feeling his double pulse thrum like a little motor in his neck. Amy went still between them. The temperature of her skin cooled slightly—any remaining heat seemed to be the natural result of the three of them lying together in various states of arousal.

Time to fix that. He broke away and turned Amy slightly so the Doctor could have his turn. He watched him drink from his wife's lips with a mixed sense of longing and jealousy, but not because he was left out—no, it wasn't that at all. He needed to see them consummate their bond. He needed to be involved with the Doctor on that level, too, to feel a part of this sensual triumvirate.

The Time Lord's skilled lips distracted Amy almost entirely. She lay there, arching into him, but at the same time, her hand quested across Rory's lap to find his thick, firm erection. She closed a fist over him, rubbing the precum around the tip, and gave a soft tug, just the way he liked her to. Barely an hour ago, the Doctor had done the same thing. A wicked thought raced through him and he careful rearranged himself as he bent across Amy and started pulling the Doctor's pants past his hips.

Well, he didn't have two cocks, at least, he thought with a mild sense of relief. But God, the man was enviably hung. Not that Rory was anything to laugh at, but he was impressed.

He'd never touched another bloke's dick before. It shouldn't have made him nervous, but it did. The Doctor sensed his hesitancy, and broke away briefly from Amy's lips to guide his hand lower until Rory found what he needed. Hot and thick, it was an odd sensation, but the Doctor's hiss and pleasured grunt sent a dart of agonizing desire straight through his own cock.

"Oh...oh, God, we're doing this, aren't we?" Amy rasped, taking hold of Rory's cock once more. In the back of his mind, he thought the whole affair should've been much more uncomfortable, much more difficult to maneuver. Sex for two was awkward enough, after all, and right now, they were like a three-bodied, six-armed octopus with too many bits to touch all at once.

_Well, you are in the TARDIS,_ he thought, or thought he thought. Those thoughts seemed to be coming from somewhere outside himself. _All dimensions of space are flexible here. Bigger on the inside, remember? Anyhow, look down._

He craned his neck and was surprised to find himself floating about ten inches off the mattress floor. The Doctor smiled privately at him but kept his lips and fingers busy on his wife's body.

Amy gave shuddering gasps, arching her back as each of them played with her nipples. "We haven't heard you say the words yet, Pond," the Doctor whispered. "Do you want us to stop?" He took his hands away.

"No...no, please, don't stop..."

"Then say the words."

She bit her lip. Rory hated seeing her in pain, but he could tell it was hurting her more not to speak her mind. It was so unlike Amy to be this prudish.

"She needs more convincing," he said lowly to the Doctor.

"I agree. Come here, Rory." He left Amy and drifted across the low-to-no gravity space to tangle Rory up in his embrace, twining their legs together as they kissed. Rory relaxed into it, intrigued by the newness of another man's body, hard and soft in the same places, but differently so. It helped, somehow, that Amy was watching. As if she were there to guide him if he faltered, to accept him if he failed. He felt safe and loved. He trusted these two people most in the world not to reject or hurt him here and now, where he was at his most vulnerable.

"Mmm, big boy." The Doctor reached between them and gave his cock a tug. "Do you think Amy would enjoy watching me suck you off?"

Rory broke out into a sweat. "I...I don't know."

"Pond? What do you say?"

Her cheeks and chest were flushed red. "Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I want you, Doctor, to put your mouth on my husband's cock." She blushed crimson, releasing a breath.

"Good. You're learning." He kept eye contact as he lowered his head, moving down and placing tight, slick lips against the tip, taking him in slowly.

Rory let out a long groan. It was exquisite, and the pressure built quickly. He glanced at his wife, who watched them raptly, one hand between her legs stroking her clit rhythmically. God, she was so beautiful, he almost came then and there, but the Time Lord pulled away and smacked his lips. "I can see why you enjoy that, Pond. He tastes just like cotton candy. Now tell us what you want next."

When she didn't reply, Rory made his own suggestion. "Would you like me to go down on you, Amy?"

She nodded slowly, but followed the Doctor's lead. "Say the words, love."

"I want you to go down on me."

"And the Doctor?"

"I...I want him to hold me and play with my tits." She let out another long breath. It sounded easier this time, as if she hadn't been holding it in, waiting for the words to burst from her chest.

"Your wish is our command." The Doctor gave Rory a wink. It was working.

* * *

Amy lay sprawled between the Doctor's legs, his hands cupping and stroking her breasts. He softly nibbled that spot behind her ear that drove her wild while Rory buried his long, pointy nose between her legs, his strong tongue lapping hard at her. Every stroke pushed her higher and higher. He'd developed those muscles from eating ice cream cones. She decided to always keep ice cream in the house from then on.

"You have the most beautiful body," the Doctor said. "It would be art to watch Rory make love to you."

She turned slightly, meeting his lips briefly. "Is that what you want?"

He smiled enigmatically. "I'm not the one who needs pleasing right now."

"Such a martyr." She kissed him hard, trying to show him it was about more than her pleasure, that she wanted him to be happy, too. It hadn't escaped her that the Time Lord made sacrifices all the time for others. But if this was going to work, he had accept their love, too. "Rory, stop."

He kissed her inner thighs and looked up, eyes full of hunger. "I want you to fuck me. And I want to suck the Doctor off at the same time."

Rory quietly positioned himself. They giggled a bit as they worked out the logistics—the low gravity environment made all the laws of physics stand out in stark relief as forces collided with equal and opposite reactions. But the Doctor guided them through it, and soon, they'd arranged themselves with the Doctor on his back, Amy crouched between his legs and Rory behind her.

She raised her hips up, the same way she'd done for the Doctor last night. The Time Lord's eyes widened as Rory entered her slowly. She imagined he was reliving it vicariously, or perhaps he was enjoying her husband through her. As curious as she was to watch her husband and her lover together, she couldn't stand to be left out for long. She needed to be the center of attention, to have their focus on her, and she hated that she was so selfish and self-centered.

Was that why she'd been so reluctant about telling them about her lustful thoughts?

She didn't have an opportunity to overthink it. Rory drew back, almost all the way out, and reminded her of her promises with a deep thrust. She grasped the Doctor by the base of his shaft and ran her tongue up the length, swirling her lips around the head before sucking him in whole. The Doctor let out a hiss of breath and forked his fingers through her hair, drawing it away from her face so it spilled across his lap.

"How often have you been thinking about doing this, Pond?" He wasn't expecting an answer, surely, but his question made her think of all the long nights in that ridiculous twin bunk bed, hovering above her own husband, not touching anyone and wanting and needing to feel closer to him. To the Doctor. "I bet you have all kinds of wonderful ideas running around that magnificent imagination of yours. And when you've run out, I have a few of my own I'd like to share. What about you, Rory?"

"I'll follow you wherever you want to go."

And she knew he was talking to both of them because that was the kind of guy Rory was. Stalwart, steady, reliable, sexy, adventurous, fearless, giving. Her husband.

Her whole body stretched tight as she came, still working her tongue and lips against the crown of the Doctor's cock, being careful not to bite down. Rory's rhythm slowed, and he slapped her ass.

"Keep that up and you're going to make me come," he warned.

"You took the words right out of my mouth." The Doctor drew her away. "Or out of her mouth, perhaps." He kissed her quick. "What now, Pond?"

She was tingling all over still, slightly dazed and just a little light-headed. But she couldn't stop. There was no way she wanted to. Not with her boys poised to do her bidding, to make her deliriously happy.

"Rory," she said dreamily. "I want us to fuck Rory."

He looked a little taken aback, but the Doctor moved quickly, reassuringly, and drew the two of them together so that Amy could kiss her husband and wrap him up in her arms. She wanted him to know how much she loved him, how much this meant to her. The Doctor embraced Rory from behind. Together, they couched him in a cocoon of passion. If there was any doubt left in Rory's heart, it was dispelled by the time he was panting and as taut as a bowstring.

It was a long, sensual afternoon of taking turns, learning the limits of each other's bodies, stroking and reassuring and building trust through touch and taste. When she'd exhausted her own laundry list of positions, the Doctor and even Rory provided them with a creative array things to try. The bedroom with its variable artificial gravity and the many straps and hooks and contraptions attached to the walls and ceiling aided their efforts, until all three of them lay in a tangled, sweaty heap.

Amy raked her fingers through both her boys' hair. "You two will be the death of me," she whispered after her fourth orgasm.

The Doctor smiled against her skin. "And yet, there's still something else you want. What is it, Amy?"

"Yeah, tell us." Rory looked equally dazed, but eager.

She closed her eyes. Hands roamed over her breasts, her thighs and lower still, tickling and teasing her until the words burst forth. "I want you both inside me."

Like that, the last threads of her embarrassment snapped, and she felt a freeing sense of sheer joy fill her. The tightness in her gut relaxed completely and she sagged.

"There. Not so difficult to say after all, eh, Pond?" The Doctor kissed her, then kissed Rory. "Have you done this before?" he asked them both.

They shook their heads. Fingers and small toys were one thing, but Rory had never wanted to hurt her.

"This will help." The Doctor produced the sonic screwdriver—where had he been keeping that? Amy wondered—and switched on the vibrator function, tuned down so it was a pleasant buzz against her tight opening. He handed it to Rory. Gradually, Amy relaxed into the sensation, letting the Doctor gentle her further with kisses and soft touches to her pliable, sweaty body.

They applied a generous amount of lubrication—again, she wondered where he kept this stuff—to the tight opening, and carefully, with exquisite slowness, the Doctor applied one finger, stretching her, getting her accustomed. It wasn't difficult—Rory had already penetrated her there, after all. But she appreciated the care they took to make her comfortable. She heard the Time Lord confer with her husband, and they worked out the positions. With every consideration made, Rory pushed his way into her, sliding in little by little, filling her. She felt the incredible pressure of him flex with every flinch, and she knew by the way he held himself that he was on the brink.

The Doctor climbed over them, watching, his own face a mess of emotions. "Are you ready, Amy?"

"Please."

He adjusted himself discreetly, and with equal precision and care, pushed into her.

Her entire body broke into a sweat. The sensation of both Rory and the Doctor pressing against her inner walls, the three of them joined by her flesh, consumed her. She closed her eyes, found the Doctor's lips as he set the rhythm.

"Oh, Doctor..." she whispered. "Rory...Rory, I love you."

"I love you," he returned, voice thready. "Oh...oh, God."

"Feel it, Amy. This sensation is what all of time feels like to a Time Lord. Like anything is possible. Like you could make love forever and die the moment you either stop or continue."

"Doctor...Doctor..." She didn't have words. A barrage of images floated through her mind, of galaxies and stars and planets and people, of all the things that had been born and lived and died throughout all of time and space, all of them precious, all of it impermanent.

Everything inside her clamped down. She opened her eyes to see the Doctor's head thrown back, eyes closed in ecstasy.

"Oh...Oh, God..." Amy's core tightened. "Rory..."

"Me, too," he panted, and his hips bucked beneath her. "Yes, Amy, yes, come, come, _come!_"

Her body expanded, contracted, and in her mind's eye, supernovaed, spinning out a hundred thousand galaxies, throwing reality into chaos and snapping it back into order all at once. The Doctor and Rory were right on her heels, and she cried out as they pulsed hard, pressed into her, against each other, their lengths gradually softening and easing out of her.

Amy lay breathless, unseeing, the stars in her eyes winking in and out of existence as readily as the ones in her mind.

And then she passed out.

* * *

It was a long time before Rory found himself able to leave Amy's side. No amount of cuddling or poking or prodding would wake her, it seemed, and he worried.

"She'll be fine now," the Doctor reassured him, waving the sonic screwdriver—a tool Rory would never look at the same way again—over Amy. "All her temperature readings are back to normal." He curled a strand of her hair around one finger, watching her with a soft smile. "You were brilliant, Rory."

His face bloomed with heat. "Thanks...you, too."

"That goes without saying." He folded his hands behind his head and grinned. "I just wish I knew how she'd gotten this way in the first place."

Rory's thoughts were occupied by something else, though. In that final, maddening moment, inside his wife, he'd caught a sweet, cold, psychic image as clear as daylight. The scent of a wet and salty ocean breeze, gritty sand beneath sneaker soles, the wan sunlight catching a tendril of bright, blond hair, and a whispered word drifting through time and memory. He studied the stress lines on the Doctor's youthful, unblemished face, his age only showing in the depths of his eyes. Twinkling like stars and just as old, Rory saw in them the span of his years, the lives he'd touched, and the ones he'd lost.

He had to ask. "Doctor...who's Rose?"

The Doctor didn't answer him.

Amy suddenly sat bolt upright. "Oh...oh, God!" She leapt to her feet and darted toward the en suite bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Does that always happen afterwards?" the Doctor asked, perplexed.

"With her? Yeah, sometimes." Then they heard a grunt and a low, pained moan. Both men got to their feet and hovered outside the door.

Rory knocked. "Amy? Are you all right?"

A pause. "I'm all right...just a... I've got...a...cramp..."

"This is why chewing is so important," the Doctor quipped. "Masticate every bite thoroughly before swallowing. Learned that the hard way, I did."

Another low grunt, and they heard a loud splash. Followed by a scream.

"Amy!" Rory grabbed the door knob, but it was locked. "Doctor, sonic!"

He looked equally panicked. "It won't work, the bathroom doors are all deadlocked on the TARDIS."

"Wha— What the hell for?"

"Well, I wouldn't want just any bloke walking in on me while I'm doing my business, would you?"

Rory slammed a shoulder into the door. "I'm coming, Amy!" He and the Doctor alternately threw their weight against the door, but it wouldn't give. "I'm thinking you need to rethink those deadlocks, Doctor."

"On three!" They backed up two steps. "One, two—"

They charged at the door, and bowled straight through, landing on top of Amy as she tried to exit. The three of them tumbled to the ground, rolling across the tiled floor...only, something else sprawled on the floor with them.

Rory peered cross-eyed at the pale green vines snaking across the cool tile, sprouting tiny heart-shaped leaves. He followed the thickening vines up to the toilet bowl. "Good lord, Amy, what did you eat?"

"This...this is fantastic!" The Doctor scrambled to his knees and waved the sonic screwdriver over the rapidly growing plant. "Of course! Why didn't I see it before?" He scanned Amy.

"Doctor...?"

"It's a bora plant. Well, half bora plant, half gelliharva vine. From the living lingerie you were wearing earlier." He brushed his fingers against a tendril, and it gave a tiny purr and sprouted further. He scanned it some more, muttering to himself, hair bobbing, eyes shining. "Brilliant. Just brilliant." He turned to Amy. "Congratulations, Amy. You are the mother of a whole new species!"

Amy rubbed her belly. "Bully for me."

"It's not just a cross-pollination. No, it was a psychic graft, aided by a dormant unquias egg that was probably on the living lingerie. They spray those things to make sure there are no parasitic elements, of course. The unquias would never have hatched, but it was still conscious. It must've amplified the gelliharva's psychic link and found the bora nut in your system. You did eat a bora nut, didn't you? Local delicacy. Tastes like a cashew."

Rory only understood half of what the Doctor was talking about, but Amy nodded. "Yes. In the shop where I got this funny little thing..." She cupped her hands vaguely. "It was a...a..."

"Nothing important." The Doctor waved dismissively. "The equivalent of an intergalactic Furby. A toy, a knickknack. No, it was the nut, the vine and the unquias. Together, they made something new, something beautiful, something unique..." He gestured grandly at the plant. "It's alive and sentient, psychic. And we're its parents!"

The vines were spreading through the bathroom, snaking up the walls, glowing softly and releasing a sweet scent as tiny pink, purple and blue flowers bloomed all over it.

"That's why you were so hungry, Amy. You were feeding a new life form growing inside you. It shut down your inhibitions, collapsing the walls that kept you from asking for what it really wanted—what this creature needed. Food. Security. Love. Maslowe's hierarchy fulfilled in twenty-four hours. Incredible."

The plant sighed. It released a pulse that blew through Rory and the rest of them, and it felt just like a tiny orgasm.

"Oh, my." The Doctor fanned himself. "Seems junior is ready to leave the nest."

"But...where will it go?" Amy placed a protective hand against the main trunk of the vine. "It's a new life form. It was born on the TARDIS. Isn't this its natural habitat?"

"As much as I'd like to keep a psychic sex plant on my ship, I have a better plan." The Doctor scurried out. He came back holding the marble he'd acquired in the marketplace where all this began—the Alloran garblesnarker. "I'd hoped to save this for a special occasion. Thought I might be able to create New Gallifrey one day." He gazed sadly at the marble. "But I think this is worth it." He used the sonic screwdriver on the marble, and it glowed bright, like a tiny star, its light so white and pure, Rory thought he was staring into the heart of God.

The Doctor placed the marble against the heart of the vine. Leafy tendrils closed over it, and the chamber began a slow, steady beat like a heart. "Come along. I have to eject this room now, give the garblesnarker room to do its work." He hooked elbows with Rory and Amy and dragged them out of the bathroom, out of the bedroom. In the corridor, he sealed the door and hit a few buttons on the control panel. There was a whoosh, the wheeze of the TARDIS engines, and suddenly, the door disappeared.

"At least we got to see where the Doctor sleeps," Amy said.

"Oh, I don't sleep in there. It's just a bedroom. A room made of beds. I thought it was clever. Never knew exactly what I'd use it for, but at least I broke it in." He waggled his eyebrows. "Come on!"

They raced to the control room, and with a few thrown switches and turned dials, the Doctor pulled up a projection of the outside of the TARDIS, deep in the heart of the iridescent nebula. "Saddle up, kiddies, this is a once-in- a-lifetime show."

In the center of the screen, Rory could just make out the glowing garblesnarker, its light growing with each bright pulse. Streams of gas and matter coalesced around it, spinning in an ever tightening ball.

"It's collecting matter to form a new planet, gathering everything it needs to sustain the new life form," the Doctor explained gleefully. "Millions and billions of years of planetary evolution...all done within a few weeks' time." He giggled.

The ball of stardust already filled half the screen, and Rory could just make out the plant digging its roots into the new earth, sprawling across the tiny planet's surface. It was probably the size of a small asteroid, just big enough to walk around in under a minute, and still growing.

"Look at it, Rory," Amy whispered, tears standing in her eyes. "It's beautiful. Our little baby is growing up."

He gave a laugh. "You want to give it a name?"

"I think I'll leave that up to the Doctor." She glanced at Rory for approval, and he nodded.

"Huh. I've never created a new species before, much less named one." The Doctor tapped a finger against his lips. "Amy, Rory, Doctor...Doctor, Amy, Rory... Rory, Doctor, Amy... Roramdoc vine!" He clapped his hands together. "And this—" he presented the screen with a flourish "—is Roramdoc Prime."

"I love it!" Amy exclaimed.

"Right. I'll leave a nursery beacon out to keep curious visitors away until the planet has stabilized. But we have to go now."

"What? Can't we stay?"

"Unfortunately, no. We need to cut the apron strings. New species leaving the nest means we have to give it room to find its own way. Let go so it can grow and evolve, be the best it can be." He smiled. "Don't worry. With two humans and a Time Lord for parents, I'm sure it'll do fine."

Amy wiped a tear from her cheek, and Rory put an arm around her. "I don't mean to get mushy. I just... _We_ made that. Together. And you gave up your planet-making marble for it."

"It's no sacrifice. This—our love—is worth it." The Doctor opened his arms. Rory and Amy looked at each other, and they gathered the Doctor close. "I love you both."

Rory squeezed his arms around them. "I love you guys."

"Me, too," Amy said. "Now can we get something to eat? I'm starving."

"No doubt. You gave birth to a whole new species through your bum."

Amy smacked Rory in the arm. "Ow!"

"I know the perfect place to go," the Doctor said, throwing the TARDIS control switches and starting up the engines. "Zephulon Nine—it's the universe's largest gathering of food trucks and food ships. You'll love the variety!"

"Actually, Doctor, if you wouldn't mind, I could really go for some fish and chips."

The Doctor smiled. "All you had to do was ask."

THE END.


End file.
